Good Night, Mr Sheppard, Wherever You Are
by katstales
Summary: Episode Tag for Outcast, season 4. The Sheppard brothers finally talk, unaware of a keenly interested observer.
1. Chapter 1

Good Night, Mr. Sheppard (V.2)

It was very strange, this being dead. There was no sense of time passing at all, not in the traditional sense of such things. He had been there, at the wake and the funeral. He had witnessed the unpleasant exchange between his two sons when John had left early with the woman and the big man with the dreadlocks. He knew that days had passed, but it didn't seem that way at all to him. He had been there observing the whole affair as John and his men chased down the robot man; then he simply wasn't.

And now he was here, watching with an ache inside that went deeper than he'd ever thought possible as his sons stood in the entryway of the house where he had raised them. Their discomfort filled the entire room and neither of them knew what to say to the other. To see the tangible evidence of his failure so plainly laid out before him was more painful than anything he'd ever experienced. They were virtual strangers, in spite of their history and regardless of the fact that they shared the same blood. And it was his fault that it had all come down to this.

"So..."

"So..."

The two spoke at precisely the same time. John smirked, bringing a youthfulness to his features that took Patrick back to his son's boyhood years. Back to the days before virtually every conversation had ended in a shouting match between them which inevitably left poor Dave in the middle to act as peacemaker. The boys had been so close before that and he was only now realizing how much his well-intentioned planning of their futures had cost both of his sons. John hadn't seen the flash of annoyance cross his brother's features at their simultaneous identical attempts to facilitate a conversation, but Patrick had seen and felt it as plain as day. With it, his hopes for a reconciliation between the brothers plummeted.

To Dave's credit though he smothered his anger as quickly as it had appeared, moving effortlessly into the role of gracious host. "Shall we take this somewhere a little more comfortable?" John nodded and allowed Dave to lead the way. Patrick followed and was pleased to see the warmth in his youngest's eyes when he turned to his brother as they entered the family room. "Can I get you a drink or anything?"

"I could go for an ice water, if you have it handy. Thanks." Patrick could tell how badly John had wanted to ask for something much stronger, but something had stopped him. He frowned, trying to figure out what was going on with his eldest as his youngest went straight to the bar.

"You sure you don't want something else?" Dave watched his brother as he warily pulled out a couple of glasses and took the lid off of the ice bucket.

John smiled, not hesitating in his answer as he took a seat on the plush leather sofa. "Thanks, but no, I really need to stick with the water."

"Okay, ice water it is then." Clearly not happy with his brother's answer, Dave set about pouring himself a scotch. He dropped the cubes of ice into John's glass and suddenly slammed the tongs down on the counter. "All right, I'm sorry, but I have to ask and I think I deserve to know. This 'work-related' thing that you just had to leave Dad's wake to deal with--is it over? Or should I expect the phone to ring any moment now, after which you'll run out in the middle of our conversation?"

"What?" John was on his feet before he even spoke, glowering at his brother. "Look. I can't talk about work--you know that."

"I'll take that as a yes then." The veins on Dave's neck were throbbing and Patrick could feel his anger grow with each successive pulse. He was helpless, unable to do anything but stand there and watch as Dave picked up the bottle of water to pour and then promptly slammed it back down on the table without even removing the lid. "Why did you even bother to come here?"

John's fists were clenched tight, but to Patrick's relief he remained standing in front of the sofa, keeping a safe distance between them. "I came here because I wanted to try...never mind. It was a stupid idea. Sorry I bothered you." And then, to Patrick's dismay, he headed for the door.

"No, wait." Dave's head was bowed, his eyes closed. "Please, don't go. I'm glad you came. I'd like...I'd like to try, too." He looked up then, his anger fading. "I'm sorry. I guess old habits are hard to break. Please. Stay?"

John scrubbed a hand through his stubbornly unruly hair, staring down at the floor. "I don't know, Dave." He looked up then, a frank expression on his face. "Maybe it would be better if I didn't, at least not now. Maybe we should, I don't know, wait awhile. Or something."

Dave nodded, his hurt showing plainly on his face. "All right. I understand. I mean, if...if that's what you want..."

Patrick knew they couldn't hear him, but he couldn't help voicing his opinion anyway. "For God's sake, John! When are you going to stop running? Dave is trying--can't you at least meet him halfway?"

But he was dead and John couldn't hear him, so his words had no affect at all. John shifted uncomfortably, his hand still on the back of his neck. "I'll...be in touch. Take care of yourself." And with a half-wave, he disappeared down the hallway.

"NO! Damn it, John, don't you dare leave things like this!" Patrick's frustration and despair had reached the breaking point. It didn't matter that neither of them could hear or see him. It didn't matter that in the end, there was absolutely nothing he could physically do to breach the chasm that he had created between his two sons. Never in his life had he so badly wanted to grab everything within his reach and throw it across the room. But in his life, he hadn't been able to see what he now saw so clearly before him in his death. What should have been his greatest accomplishment, his true legacy, was in fact his greatest failure. For as much as he wanted to lay the blame for this at John's feet, he knew that the rift between these two brothers had started with him and his stupid insistence that John follow Patrick's plan for his life instead of his own.

He dropped heavily into his favorite chair, the one by the window where he'd confessed his failure to his youngest son not that long ago. As he sat there, his head in his hands, he heard the clink of crystal on crystal as Dave poured himself another drink. This being dead thing certainly sucked. Royally. Patrick couldn't remember ever wanting a drink so badly as he did right then. He could feel Dave's hurt over his brother's rejection, but there was nothing he could do to comfort or reassure him. Or to make John see reason--though he hadn't exactly excelled at that when he was alive either. It was time to face facts: he was a failure. Pure and simple, complete and utter. A door slammed in another part of the house, signalling John's exit and the end of his hopes for a reconciliation between his sons. A final exclamation point to the most spectacular mistake he'd ever made. "Way to go, Patrick. You've certainly done a bang-up job with this one." He said the words out loud, even though he knew no one else could hear.

"Okay, look. I don't want to leave things like this either, but I don't see the point in my staying if you're going to keep going off on me about my job. So you tell me--should I stay or should I go?"

If he hadn't been dead, Patrick would have cried at the sight of John leaning lazily against the doorway, his arms crossed. He'd come back. His oldest still had some misgivings, but he was willing to try if Dave agreed. Patrick sank back into his chair, relieved that there was yet a chance for his sons to re-establish some sort of meaningful relationship. "Come on, Dave," he urged his youngest. "John's willing to try. Now it's your turn."

The youngest Sheppard's smile was warm and genuine as he poured water over the ice in John's glass. With ice water in one hand and his own scotch in the other, he crossed the room to hand his brother the drink. "Please, stay. I promise I won't..." Dave's voice trailed off, replaced by a wry smile. "You'd think I'd have learned by now not to make promises I can't keep." The smile disappeared, his expression turning serious. "I want to swear that I won't get angry about certain things. But I think we both know that's a promise I wouldn't be able to keep. All I can do is promise to do my best to control my temper, especially where your job is concerned. Will that do?"

"Yeah," John replied. "That'll do just fine."

"Good. I suppose that's a start then. Shall we?" The younger Sheppard swept his arm toward the sofa and Patrick's chair.

John nodded, pulling up sharply as his hand went to his neck. Dave heard his brother's hiss of discomfort and frowned. "What on Earth happened to your neck?" His eyes widened in sudden comprehension. "This is why you're abstaining from alcohol, isn't it? You're on medication for your injury."

Though he'd dropped his hand almost immediately, it automatically returned to his neck upon his brother's questions, as if covering the livid bruises would make them go away. "I'm fine. Really. And I'm sorry, but at the risk of setting you off again, I can't tell you what happened."

Dave's face hardened, his grip tightening on the glass in his hand. "Oh, well of course..." He stopped himself from saying anymore and Patrick could feel him struggle to let go of his anger. "I'm sorry. I really am trying here. Please, come back and sit down. Please?"

Patrick's emotional rollercoaster continued as John handed Dave the glass of water right back. John looked over to the sofa where he'd been sitting before the tempers had flared and then back at Dave. "I changed my mind." Patrick was dismayed--until John continued. "So if you have any more of that," he said, pointing at Dave's scotch. "I think I could probably use some if I'm going to stay."

"Of course...but you seemed so adamant earlier about no alcohol--are you certain it's wise to mix whatever medication you're taking with scotch? Though it is some mighty fine scotch, that I will grant you." Dave's face echoed Patrick's worry and he braced himself for John's reaction to being questioned.

To his father's immense relief, John simply flashed his brother one of his trademark smirks. "No, mixing the two would definitely not be wise. But I'm due for another dose right about now, so there won't be any mixing involved. And I think your very fine scotch there would far better serve my purposes right about now, so..."

"Oh, okay. Good. That's good. I'll pour you a drink and we can...talk." Dave turned toward the bar, but hesitated. "Look, I wasn't...I didn't mean to imply in any way that you were being careless or irresponsible. I-I...we just lost Dad. I know we aren't exactly close anymore, but...I don't...if anything were to happen to my big brother..."

John looked almost stunned. "O-okay. You're right. I know we...I know what..." He sighed deeply, shaking his head. "Let's just say no offense taken and leave it at that, shall we?"

His shoulders slumping in obvious relief, Dave nodded before proceeding to the bar to pour him a scotch while his brother took a seat on the sofa next to Patrick's chair.

Patrick stayed in his seat, taking to opportunity to study--really study--his eldest son. Almost as if he knew that his father was beside him, John gazed out the window, providing Patrick a good look at the vivid bruises on his neck. Stunned that he hadn't noticed them earlier, he continued his visual inspection, searching carefully for any further damage. His examination revealed a few assorted scrapes and contusions, but thankfully nothing of the caliber of the marks on his neck. He looked tired though, thought Patrick, but given what he'd what he'd witnessed his son go through to eliminate the robot, he had to admit that it wasn't surprising. Upon further consideration, it occurred to him that John had the look of one who carried a heavy weight on his shoulders. There were far too many lines etched into his features, and while some of that was no doubt from the passage of time, Patrick recognized the physical manifestations wrought by the burden of leadership all too well. His thoughts drifted again back to the conversation with the President and that, along with what he'd witnessed with his own eyes, eliminated any lingering doubt in his mind that his son was far more than just another Air Force pilot.

He was pulled from his musings by the arrival of his youngest as Dave joined his brother on the sofa, placing a tray with two tumblers and a full decanter on the coffee table. After handing John a tumbler of the expensive amber fluid, he raised his own glass in a toast. "To Dad?"

John clinked his drink against Dave's, but said nothing. A painfully uncomfortable silence fell over the room as each of the brothers searched for way to reach out to the other. Each drained his glass and refilled it, silently raising his newly filled tumbler to the other before again drinking deeply.

After what seemed an eternity to both men, John was the one to finally break the silence. "So. You staying then? With the business?"

Dave blinked in surprise, turning to his brother with a frown. "Why? Surely you aren't trying to tell me that you actually want to come work for the company after all these years?"

Now it was John's turn to look surprised. "What? No! No way. I just thought...well, you seemed a little resentful at the wake when you said you were the one who stayed to run it. I was just thinking that there's nothing really holding you there now. If there was something else you'd wanted to do, I mean."

Eyeing his brother warily, Dave held his temper and sought to further clarify John's meaning and intentions. "So what, you think I should just hand the company that our father spent his whole life building over to a total stranger while I pursue other avenues? Just forget that this was Dad's legacy to us and blow it off like it means nothing?"

John took another long drink and filled his glass for the third time. It was obvious he was taking his time before answering, not wanting to say the wrong thing and set his younger sibling off yet again. With a deep sigh, he finally turned to face his brother. "What I'm saying is that you need to follow _your_ dreams now. If that means staying and running the business, then fine. But if there's something else you want to do, something you've denied yourself because it wasn't what Dad wanted, then you should do it. Don't spend your whole life living someone else's dream. The company isn't going anywhere. You don't have to give up controlling interest, but you also don't have to be there day in and day out. If there's something else you've always wanted to do, you should do it. That's all I'm saying."

"You really don't get it, do you?" Dave was hanging onto his temper, but only just. Patrick was angry at John too, but there was also a part of him that realized that his eldest was right. His day was done. It was long past time that both of his boys found fulfillment, even if that meant someone else running the business. He only wished he'd realized that sooner. And though he was deeply ashamed to admit it, he didn't have the slightest clue whether or not his youngest even had any unfulfilled dreams or aspirations.

Dave abruptly rose and went to stand in front of the window, pulling Patrick's attention back to the situation at hand. He didn't even so much as glance at his brother as he laid it all out. "For your information, I love everything about the business. If you or anyone else intend to try to take it away from me, you're going to have a helluva fight on your hands." He took a long sip from his scotch to allow John to digest his words, but he was far from finished. "You want to know what I really resent? What I was--am really angry about?"

To his credit John didn't back down or run away, even though his father could feel his urge to do exactly that building. Then he stood and for a brief instant Patrick thought he might have misjudged, but his son merely grabbed his glass and joined his brother at the window. Neither man looked directly at the other, choosing to communicate through the reflections in the glass instead. "Whether I want to know or not is irrelevant. If we really are going to give this thing a shot, we both need to lay all our cards on the table. No holding back. So go ahead, little brother. Lay it on me."

Dave nodded, and when he finally spoke, his voice was tight with anger. "Fine. You're right, we need to lay it all out if we're going to have any real chance at this." He stared down into his glass, swirling the liquid inside as he carefully chose his next words. "He needed you. _**I**_ needed you. And you weren't here. You never came, not until it was too late. I left message after message with your unit commander at Peterson, but not once did you ever even acknowledge them."

Stunned, John turned to face him but said nothing. He looked stricken, his mind reeling from his brother's words. It hit Patrick like a physical blow and he couldn't help but cry out. "No, John! It's all right--it's all my fault. I'm the one who pushed you away. Do you hear me? It's MY fault."

His words, of course, fell on deaf ears. Dave not only didn't hear his father, he didn't seem to notice his brother's distress either and let his feelings continue to pour out. "No, your precious _job_ was more important than Dad. Or me. Do you have any idea what it's like to watch someone waste away little by little, right before your eyes? Because I do, thanks to you. I was the one who stayed with him in the hospital. I was the one who held his hand and reassured him you'd be there any moment, all the while knowing it was a big fat lie. I made excuses for you, promised him that you wanted to be there and that if there was any way possible you'd come. I was the one who talked to the doctors and made the decisions, because you were too busy with your precious _job_ to be bothered!"

Patrick suddenly found himself standing next to the boys at the window, but he could do nothing save to watch in horror as his youngest ripped his oldest to shreds. "Dave, no, please, don't do this," he begged, knowing all the while his plea would not be heard.

John took a moment to find his voice. "I'm sorry." His eyes shone with unshed tears, but he refused to allow them to fall. "I thought...I thought I was doing you a favor by staying away. I thought my being there would only make things worse. You know how he-I-_we_ were. I thought my being there would only make things worse. I didn't think he wanted me there."

"Well you thought wrong--about all of it!" Dave turned and walked away, his anger fading as rapidly as it had spiked. Plopping wearily down onto the sofa, he poured himself another whiskey. Unable to bring himself to look at his brother, he took a long drink before he spoke again. "You were both wrong. He should have tried to get in touch after his trip to Washington. I should have made certain that he did."

At last, he lifted misty eyes to meet John's. "So I guess there's plenty of blame for all of us."

"I'm sorry." John barely managed to choke out the words and had to force himself to continue. "I didn't realize. I shouldn't have left you to deal with all of it alone. I guess I just assumed you didn't need me. You've always been the one who handled things. Way better than I ever did. It never occurred to me that you might need or want my help."

Had he any breath to hold, Patrick would have done so as he awaited Dave's response. He could feel that both of his sons realized that this was make-or-break time, even though both were experiencing such strong emotions. But would that be enough?


	2. Chapter 2

Dave stared down into his drink, watching the liquid swirl as he swooshed the glass around in a tight circle. He took another sip and then very deliberately set the tumbler on the table and picked up the decanter. Silence hung heavily between them as he inspected every facet of the vessel. At last he looked back up at his brother, lifting the half-empty container in his direction and nodding to the empty spot on the sofa next to him. "Okay, apology accepted. Now I think it's time to wipe the slate clean and start over--beginning with you getting over here and helping me finish off the rest of this very fine scotch."

His shoulders slumping in relief, John broke into one of his lopsided grins. "I can do that." He drained the last of his whiskey and sauntered over to join his brother, who promptly refilled the tumbler.

Patrick would have collapsed with relief had he a real body. As it was, he went back to the chair to continue to observe his sons, regretting even more that he had never tried to mend things between the three of them.

"To Dad?" Dave raised his glass, waiting for John to reciprocate.

John, however, shook his head. "No, I think we should toast to something else this time." Still smiling, he lifted his own glass. "To my brother."

Stunned, Dave nodded. "To my brother," he echoed. He was beaming as he clinked his tumbler against John's and then took a healthy swig.

John lifted his glass to his lips, but paused mid-drink. "Wait a minute. Washington? When did Dad go to Washington--and _why_?" He was frowning now, suspicion radiating off of him.

Patrick tensed, bracing himself for an end to the freshly agreed upon truce. But to his immense relief, Dave didn't take offense and began to explain.

"Dad was invited to speak at an energy symposium there. His talk was the last one on the agenda. I spoke to him right after and he seemed very pleased, thought it went well. And it must have because we started getting calls almost immediately..." Seeing his brother's eyes begin to glaze over, he quickly abandoned the business details. "Um, well anyway, I was planning to work late so I'd be free to pick him up at the airport the next morning. I'd grabbed a late dinner and was on my way to the den to finish up a few more reports before bed. That's when I noticed him sitting over there," he said, pointing to the seat that Patrick once again occupied unseen.

A look over at John revealed that he had lost the tense posture and was draining the last of his drink. As he poured a new one, curiosity had largely replaced suspicion, though a hint of wariness did remain. Patrick was hopeful that the peace the two had established would endure, even after Dave finished revealing the details of that fateful trip.

Dave's expression was solemn as he continued. "I've never seen him like that before, John. Never. He was...off-balance, shaken. I mean, really shaken. He said he'd been invited to the White House and met the President."

John stilled suddenly in mid-drink, his wariness back to full force. "Oh?" was all he said.

His brother didn't seem to pick up on it, his eyes taking on a far-away look as he returned to that awful night in his mind. "He said he'd been excited, thrilled that the President had taken time to seek him out. He thought it was because of the business. But it wasn't. He told Dad that he couldn't resist the urge to meet John Sheppard's father."

Patrick thought his oldest might bolt from the house right then and there. For good, judging by the way his heart was racing. He was thankful that John stayed, though he suspected it was more a case of being too shocked to move rather than any real desire to hear more.

Still lost in his memories, Dave didn't notice his brother's reaction and continued the tale. "God, he couldn't even remember how he got home. He said the President told him that it would be best if he gave up on his dream of you returning to join the company. I think it was what prompted him to really, truly let go of the idea of you coming home to stay."

A lone tear escaped as Dave turned to face his brother. "I hated you for awhile after that, you know. It was like part of him died that night. He was never quite the same. It wasn't long after that his health began to decline."

John had a deer-in-the-headlights look as he fumbled for a reply. "I don't...I didn't...why?"

Dave shook his head, giving in to anger in order to keep forming tears at bay. "Why what? Why do--did I hate you? Why was Dad affected so badly? Why was he still holding onto his dream for you to join the company? Why do you think?"

Stunned, John shook his head. "No, I mean why would the President care about meeting my father? It's not like we've met more than a couple of times at most." His eyes went wide as a thought suddenly occurred to him. "He, um, didn't say anything about my job, did he?"

His anger still raging, Dave slammed his glass on the table and leapt to his feet. "And what if he did? Would it really be so bad if we knew where you were and what you were doing?"

"Of course not!" John also stood now, allowing rein to his own rising anger. "I'd love to be able to tell you about the places I've been and things I've seen. Well, most of it anyway," he amended. "But what I do and where I am is so highly classified that not more than a handful of generals even know about it!"

Dave opened his mouth to reply, but promptly closed it without a word and dropped back onto the sofa. Patrick felt realization hit his youngest like a physical blow--much like it had him the night he'd met the President. When he spoke, it wasn't so much directed at John as it was a verbalization of his thoughts. "Oh my God, he was right. I mean, I kind of knew, but..."

John's anger faded as quickly as his brother's and confusion was quick to set in. "What? Who was right? What are you talking about?"

"Dad. He said the President told him that they needed you. That you were uniquely qualified for your position and that no one could take your place. I mean, I knew because Dad told me that night, but now? Now I _see_ it. You really aren't just another pilot, are you?"

The deer-in-the-headlights look returned and John hedged. "Of course I am. I-I don't know what you're talking about."

Dave wasn't giving up so easily though. "No, no that old song won't play anymore, brother dearest. I won't ask you for any details, so don't worry. But I know now that it's true. Dad realized it first and he was right. How many Lieutenant Colonels are there in the Air Force these days? And how many of those do the President know by name--and know well enough to make him curious enough to want to meet their fathers? No," he insisted. "Dad was right. He said you had to be something special to overcome the black mark on your record and get promoted. I guess I just didn't really see it clearly, not until now."

John's legs turned to jelly and he joined his brother on the sofa. "Dad said that? My--our Dad?"

Patrick nodded, pride welling within. "Yes, son, yes I did. And I will never regret more not telling you myself."

Staring up at the ceiling, Dave laughed mirthlessly. "Oh yeah." He turned to his brother, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I wish you had been there, John. I wish you could have seen his face when he said he used to stand over your crib and just watch you sleep. I really can't find the words to describe it, but I can tell you this--I never saw him look quite like that before. He said he could tell even then that you were really special and that you would do great things when you grew up." He pulled away then, anger again swelling. "I did everything he asked and I never complained. But in that moment I knew. You were his favorite and everything I have, everything I've done, none of it mattered. None of it was ever meant for me. It was always supposed to be yours. All of it. I only got it by default and I never truly had his confidence, not the way you did."

Patrick was stunned. "No Dave, no! I loved you every bit as much as your brother. I was--am so proud of you, the way you stepped up when John left. I-I thought you knew that?" He turned his thoughts inside, berating himself for not having seen this. "God, what have I done? Why didn't I think to tell you? I'm sorry, son. So very, very sorry!"

His words went unheard, as he knew they would. Dave downed the rest of his whiskey and emptied the last of the scotch into his glass. He looked up at his brother, his anger surging as it warred with sadness and regret. "Do you have any idea what that feels like? To know that you were never anything more than second best? And please, spare me the platitudes and assurances. He never talked about me that way or got that look on his face, the one he got when he talked about how special you were. _I_ stayed and _I_ took care of him. _I_ ran the business and _I_ saw that he had the finest doctors and the best treatments available! _I _did everything and anything he asked of me and I never complained, not once. And I did it all alone while you were off God-knows-where doing God-knows-what. But despite all of that, he never got that look on his face when he talked about me or what I've done. He never said I was special, not like you. And I hate you for that! Do you hear me? I hate you!"

Dave was sobbing openly by now. John couldn't seem to find the words, but he dropped back onto the sofa and awkwardly put his arms around his younger brother. Dave tried to pull away at first, but John held on and, still sobbing, Dave held onto his older brother for dear life. John rocked him, muttering his apologies over and over. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he crooned.

Patrick had never before wanted so badly to be able to reach out and touch his sons, to comfort them both and tell them what he'd really been thinking and feeling. To tell them he knew now that he was wrong, that he should have told them so many things before it was too late. And most importantly of all, that he should have never tried to force his hopes and dreams for the future on his sons. He saw so many things clearly now in death, things that he never could or would allow himself to see when he was alive. Topping that list of things was his role in the current rift between his sons. Dave was right--he should have moved heaven and earth to make things right between him and John before he died. He should have never put David in the middle of it. And most importantly, he should have made certain that Dave knew that he was every bit as proud of him as he was of John. So very many should-haves for one lifetime, he thought sadly.

It seemed an eternity before Dave quieted and the brothers finally parted. In perfect unison, they picked up their respective drinks from the table and drained them dry. Dave shifted uncomfortably, trying to look at his brother out of the corner of his eye without being obvious about it. "I'm, um, sorry. About...about...that. I didn't mean it, obviously. I'm afraid the whiskey must have gone straight to my head."

John picked up his glass, trying to get the last possible drop of scotch from the empty glass. He set it back down, but didn't look directly at his brother as he answered him. "Of course you meant it. And if you didn't, then you should have."

Before Dave could protest, John held up a hand to indicate that he wasn't yet finished. "Okay, maybe you don't hate me, not entirely. But let's be honest, part of you will always resent me and yes, even hate me. I know I would in your place. So I guess the question becomes, is that part of you too strong to allow us to establish some sort of relationship again?"

Growing more anxious by the moment, Patrick waited for Dave's answer. It wasn't easy, but he refused to allow the seed of hope room to grow just yet. They were trying and that was all he could ask for, but there was still so much that could still go wrong. So very, very wrong.

Dave opened his mouth to answer, but immediately shut it again. He stared out the window, trying to gather his thoughts and calm his conflicting emotions. John waited patiently, allowing him the time he needed. Patrick was proud of the both of them, though that made him no less apprehensive over what was to come.

At last Dave turned to face his sibling, his expression earnest and open."I meant what I said before, John. I don't want to lose my brother. So if you can forgive my behavior, I'd like to try. I can't promise that my temper won't ever get the best of me, but I really do want to try. So what about you? Can you accept that?"

The seed of hope in Patrick sprouted, in spite of his best efforts and he willed his oldest to agree. "Come on, John," he urged. "Take what he's offering."

John sighed, running his hand along the back of his neck. "Can I accept that you're gonna get pissed at me sometimes? Sure. Even if it happens a lot. And yeah, I want to get to know the man my pesky kid brother has grown into. But can you deal with the fact that I may be out of touch for long periods of time? In regards to my job, nothing has changed. I won't be around much and there may be times when I'm out of contact for a long time. And even when I get leave and come home, you have to understand that I can be called back without a moment's notice and I'll have to drop everything and go. And I still won't be able to tell you why or where I'm going. Can you live with that?"

Hope began to wither a bit as Patrick feared Dave would say no. John's secrecy--no matter that it wasn't necessarily his choice--had always been a sore spot for David. Even more so than it had been for himself and that was saying something. He'd asked his youngest about it once, but Dave had hedged and never actually answered him.

In the meantime, Dave took a moment to consider his answer. It wasn't long before a wry smile graced his features. "Yes, I think I can live with that. I may not like it, but I can live with it if the alternative is closing the door to getting to know my only big brother again. Even if he's still the world's biggest pain in the ass."

John grinned back at him. "Ah, that would be PITA, a title which belongs solely to you, little brother."

Tears formed in Patrick's eyes. They were doing it, they were going to get to know each other again. His sons were going to be real brothers again, even if they weren't able to have frequent contact. And that was all that Patrick could hope for.

"Hey, do you remember that time when you told that girl in Jamaica that my name was PITA and then she insisted on calling me that for the entire month we were there? I thought Dad was going to kill you for that one when she said it front of his business associate."

John laughed. "Do I ever! I spent the next three weeks banned from the beach and the water. I didn't think that month would ever end," he groaned.

To their father's tremendous relief, the brothers spent the next few hours reminiscing. Dave refilled the decanter and the pair made a serious dent in the contents before John finally called a halt to the visit. "I really hate to do this, but I need to go back now. I've got your email and cell number now though, so I'll try to keep in touch as best I can. And I promise, I'll see about putting in for more leave soon. Hey, maybe we can go back to Jamaica or something," he suggested.

"You really think they're ready for the grown up version of the Sheppard brothers?" asked Dave, laughing.

John shrugged. "Don't know, but there's only one way to find out, right?"

Patrick laughed at them, not for the first time since they'd put their differences behind them. It was beyond wonderful to watch them getting along so well.

Standing, Dave pulled his keys from his pocket. "Need a ride back?"

His brother frowned, shaking his head. "After all the scotch--very fine though it was--that we've consumed this afternoon? I don't think so, not this time. Besides, I don't need Dad coming back from the grave to kick my ass for you getting a DUI. I'd better just call a cab. But thanks anyway," he added earnestly.

Dave looked like he wanted to argue at first, but then thought better of it. "Yeah, you're probably right. And now that I've admitted that, I must add that once I'm good and properly sober I'm going to deny ever doing so until my very last breath and then some. So don't be expecting it to happen again," he warned.

"Well see about that, little brother." John's eyes were twinkling and the weariness that had weighed so heavily on him earlier was gone, at least for the moment.

All too soon, the cab was there and his sons were saying their final farewells.

"So, I guess this is goodbye for now." Dave stood just inside the threshold, his arms crossed.

"Yeah, guess so. Take care, little brother. I'll be in touch when I can." John paused just outside the door, not knowing anymore than Dave what to do next.

Knowing that it might be the last time he ever saw his brother alive, Dave couldn't just let him go like that and grabbed John into a bear hug. "No, you take care. I know you can't talk about it, but I have a feeling your job is a whole lot more dangerous than mine, big brother. So wherever you're going and whatever you're doing, stay safe." With a final clap on the back, he stepped away from the hug.

John just nodded, looking very uncomfortable with the sudden turn in the conversation. He said nothing, but waved as he turned to go.

Patrick had simply sat back and watched them, soaking in every word, every gesture during the visit. Now that it was over, he was torn as to what to do next. But as he watched John walk toward the waiting car, he suddenly knew what he had to do.

"I wish you could hear me, son," he told Dave. "I wish I could tell you how proud of you I am and how much I cherished every moment we spent together. But I have to go now. I have to get to know your brother, even if he doesn't know I'm there. Goodbye, son, and God bless."

And as the cab drove away with his eldest son, Patrick followed.


End file.
